


(Touching Skillfully, Mysteriously) Her First Rose

by niklitera



Series: Nobody, Not Even the Rain, Has Such Small Hands [8]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Also this one's kinda short sorry, And It Will Be Soon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Jacob is sad, Lots of kissing, M/M, MY KIND OF MILD ANGST, Mentions of non-con kiss, Mild Angst, Next One Will Be Better, Roth's Kiss, Well - Freeform, at least for a while, so the Roth thing happens, there's touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5487794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niklitera/pseuds/niklitera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacob wants to forget Maxwell ever kissed him.</p><p>(Or, that one fic where Roth is an utter asshole and Ned's there to make Jacob feel better.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Touching Skillfully, Mysteriously) Her First Rose

**Author's Note:**

> MORE ANGST.

Things were strangely quiet.

For Ned, at least. He knew, in reality, things were _not_ okay. The whole disaster with Pearl Attaway had left Jacob more than a little confused, a little lost, a little angry. Ned had been at the end of many late-night rants after a trip to the bar, and more than once had he found Jacob at his front door with a busted lip and a swollen eye. The businessman had been _oh, so very fucking tempted_ to call the other Frye twin and demand to know what was happening that Jacob wasn't telling him but - but if Jacob hadn't told him, then it wasn't his right to know.

Because Ned couldn't be a hypocrite. He knew Jacob didn't tell him certain things, things that perhaps he told his sister or perhaps not, but he knew were private. Some things... well, saying them out loud made them real. And if Jacob was too busy killing and doing his job as assassin to listen when Ned had received a letter informing him of his father's illness which led to his death then, well, Ned couldn't blame him. There were bigger things than his feelings, than Ned _hurting_. Like the people of London. Like the people in England. In Europe. In the world. So yes, he could understand.

What he couldn't understand was _something_ _else_.

"Jacob?" Ned groaned as he noticed movement in his own bed, blinking away the sleep from his eyes.

The assassin was wiggling inside, the breeze that came from the window chilling his exposed arms. It'd been a month or two since Ned had become a bit more comfortable in his skin, enough so that he didn't mind at all when a family head of dark chocolate locks settled against his collarbone, warm and fast breath hitting the top of his chest. Ned would've probably gone back to sleep if he hadn't wrapped his arms unconsciously around Jacob and noticed him trembling, panting, shaking shoulder and heaving breaths.

"Jacob?" this time, the elder awoke completely and placed his hands on the back of Jacob's head, trying to pry his face away from his skin so he could look him in the eye. Jacob then shook his head and burrowed closer to him, arms wrapped around Ned's waist. "Jacob, are you alright?"

"I almost- " oh, _Christ_ , he was sobbing. "I-I almost killed them."

"What? Who?" Ned tried to sit up, but it was impossible. "Jacob, are you hurt?"

"The _children_!" it came out choked, strangled, and the thief froze. "He was going to kill them, Ned!"

"You mean Roth?" his hand lowered to his scruffy cheek, and Jacob nodded into him again. Ned sighed. "Yeah, I had a feeling this was about him."

"He would've blown them to bits, Ned," he was crying. The American could feeling his tears sliding down his skin, between his breasts, into the mattress. Ned felt his heart doing something it definitely shouldn't do. "He would've - I thought - I mean, how could I let him? I was fast but - but what if I hadn't been?"

"But you were," Ned ran his fingers through his hair, and Jacob's grip loosened slightly. Ned welcomed the change. "Did he get away?"

"He did yet," Jacob entwined their legs together. "This morning I - I received a letter."

"Wait, what?" Ned glared at the crown of his head. "Hold on, you're telling me that this happened _yesterday_?"

"Yes," he replied after a moment's pause. "I... It was nothing, I didn't want to tell you about it because... you've already got enough on your plate."

"You goddamn idiot," Ned finally pried Jacob away from his chest but, when he finally met his clear eyes, Ned froze.

They were - they were so puffed, and red, and there were terrible bags under his eyes and he had a few cuts and a bruise on his temple. With a slightly trembling hand, Ned brushed his fingers against his wounds very softly, closing his eyes for a second's breath before opening them again, fire shinning.

"What did he do?" he asked.

"He kissed me," Jacob croaked.

Ned bristled, eyes wide and brow furrowed and blood boiling inside his very veins. Maxwell Roth, that... _that little shit_ had dared to kiss _Jacob_? That _motherfucker_. Ned knew - oh, Ned fucking _knew_ he'd been in love with Jacob. Too many 'darling's, too many platonic sentences in between, and the much too friendly relationship they'd had. But Jacob and Ned - _Ned and Jacob_ weren't... well, _NedandJacob_. They were just - that. Ned. And then there was Jacob. Sure they had kissed, they had necked, and Jacob had touched him where no one had and heard things Ned hadn't ever shared with anyone else but they weren't - _exclusive_. Things did not work that way. The world wasn't that beautiful.

"He kissed you," Ned spat, blurted out, before he could even think of trying to reassure Jacob it was alright.

"He kissed me as I pulled the blade from his neck, Ned," Jacob cried, whimpered, like a wounded dog left to rot on the streets at night in the middle of Winter. Ned's heart broke just a little bit more. "He _kissed me_ and it was _awful_."

Ned's heart made a little jump - Jacob looked about to throw up.

"Jacob -"

"I saw him," using his hands to sit on the mattress, Jacob shook, making the bed shake with him. God, he really looked about to vomit - pale and green and ill. "I saw him, Ned, and he was - he was _the devil_. He did all those terrible things because he could. _Because he could!_ Who does that? Who kills for sport? Who bargains the life of others for entertainment? For money? For reason? Only the devil does, Ned, only - and -"

Tears were running down his face, dripping from his chin to his neck to his blood-stained once-before crisp white shirt.

"And if the devil loves me then -" a sob made his entire body shake. " _Then what does that make me?_ "

"You listen to me now, Jacob Frye," Ned sat up, grasping his face and brushing away his tears. He'd never seen Jacob cry before. He'd never handled this at all, it'd been Ned who had cried and that was already a feat but - happy, optimist, liberalist Jacob crying? He was supposed to be strong one of the two. "You are _not_ like Maxwell Roth, you hear me?"

"You were right," his big hands grasped his shoulders, foreheads bumping into each other. "You were right, I'm so sorry, Ned, you were right about Pearl and Maxwell and- "

"So?" Ned swallowed down his pity, his compassion, his sadness, pulling on his stubborness for this. "I was right. Is that some kind of news? I'm always right. Whatever. You've learned your lesson. You're not a monster for trusting people, Jacob. It made you gullible before but now you're free. We've all been naïve."

"I'm sorry," Jack wouldn't stop shaking and Ned didn't know what to do. "I'm so sorry. I swear I am, dear _God_ , what is Evie going to think?"

"It's not your fault, Jacob," Ned told him, and it suddenly dawned on him.

Of course. _Of fucking course_. That was why. That was exactly why Ned had been so infatuated with Jacob all this time, it - it made sense.

It was the kindness in him.

Long ago, Ned had forgotten what genuinity, what true kindness and honesty felt like. What enthusiams for ideals and the wild youth could bring. The American had aged much more mentally than he had ever done physically, and so when Jacob came around it reminded him slightly of him, of the days when dreams were fresh and palpable and reachable and the white music box wasn't broken at all and he could still sing when he felt like it without bursting into tears.

And now Jacob was breaking.

"It's not your fault," he repeated, once more, but this time he _made_ the assassin look at him. Jacob froze when he saw the determination. "You know what? Alright, so - so you were fooled, uh? Everyone's been fooled. Everyone's been stabbed on the back. I have been. I bet your father was, too."

At that, Jacob winced.

"But don't you realize this is good?" Ned took his chin, and he was suddenly reminded of how young Jacob was. He was but a mere boy, at the peak of his youth. His lips fell on his nose before he could help it, and he delivered a smile at his bewildered face. "This will help you grow. Everything that happens, happens for a reason. I don't," Ned made a face. "I don't really believe in God, or in anyone. But I do believe that whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. And you are so strong already, Jacob. You are _so strong_. I know we don't talk much and, when we do, it's about the bad things but you -" the thief sighed. "Damn it, Frye, you make me feel good about myself, alright? Remember that. Please."

There was silence, for a moment, before Jacob swallowed audibly and nodded - it was a shy, little nod, a weak smile playing on his lips, but it was a smile nonetheless and Ned would take it as it was. Sighing in relief, he released his chin and allowed himself to land a kiss on his forehead lovingly. Fuck, this boy would be the end of him.

"Would you -?" Jacob hesitated, and Ned looked eagerly at him, wiggling eyebrows encouraging him. "I feel like a dimwit asking for this, but I really don't want to sleep knowing Maxwell kissed me."

"You want me to kiss it away," Ned interpreted, giving out a smirk which quickly faded when Jacob's frown settled. With a sigh, Ned fisted his stained shirt and pulled him towards his own body. "C'mere."

Jacob had barely opened his mouth before the American joined their lips, kissing slowly and thoroughly, slightly burdened by the fact that Roth had fucking kissed his damn man. Flicking his tongue out, he ran it through the roof of Jacob's mouth and seeked his tasted, trying to engrave his own so when the assassin fell asleep, he'd only dream of him, like he ought to. He was pulling away when a hand moved to the back of his neck and they were kissing once more.

Jacob Frye kissed him like a starved man - desperate and lost and a little bit sad. Ned made sure to reassure him that he wasn't going anywhere, that everything was alright, that he was here, in Ned's bed, in his house, with his hands on him instead of Roth's. He pulled on his hair, caressed his neck, touched his torso, brushed his tongue against his. Then Jacob abruptly pulled away, face flushed, lookingly slightly like a new man. Ned felt smug for a moment before Jacob suddenly grinned.

And it was blinding, happily satisfied, relieved, and _holy fucking christ_ , Ned thought, _I am in love with this man_.

"Thank you," Jacob whispered. "I don't say it enough but - thank you, Ned. For everything."

 _Fuck you_. Ned swallowed, trying not to hyperventilate as Jacob's shirt left his body and he leaned in for another deep kiss, pushing Ned so that his back was to the mattress. _Fuck you, you fucking idiot, why did you have to make me fall in love with you_?


End file.
